Cutting Out The Monster Within
by Sadistic Writer of FanFiction
Summary: Steve struggles to cope with the idea that monsters aren't a figment of a child's imagination, nor are they hidden deep within humans. They're real, tangible beings. So he turns to cutting himself, to distract from his spiraling thoughts. However, the kids, Dustin in particular, realize that something is wrong with their friend/babysitter. He's sad; he's hurting; he needs help.


It all started after he was dethroned. No longer "King Steve", he was now something akin to "Babysitter Steve". But it wasn't truly the loss of a prestigious title that triggered his self harm impulses, it was the cost of losing the title. The loss of his naivety, his innocence, his safety. Everything he thought he knew, or was thought to be guaranteed, was ripped to shreds.

When Steve was a child, like all children, he believed there to be monsters hiding within the shadows of the closet, or in the dark depths beneath the bed. As he grew up, the monsters were no longer hiding in houses, but in humans. We are monsters; to ourselves, to others. People can be cruel, people hurt others. Steve _was once_ a monster. He bullied others, because he lacked love and attention at home, so he stole the light within them, to feed his ever growing despair. But then Steve's world was torn apart when he realized that the _real_ monsters hide within a shadow realm. A grimy, toxic alternate universe that parallels his own. The monsters were humanoid, with flower petal faces lined with more teeth than could possibly be necessary for one living creature to possess.

He was dragged into this secret, by pure coincidence and accident. He simply wanted to apologize for being a monster. Then he faced a real one. A year later, and he faced more. He befriended a group of children, whom he grew to care about very much. He cared to the point that he put himself in danger, just to save their hides. He faced the human monster named Billy, and he faced the real monsters, called demodogs.

It was all too much for Steve to handle, thus, the self harming began. It helped when his mind began to spiral, and he thought too much and too hard about the other worldly horrors he had witnessed. The pain reminded him that the nightmares weren't real, that the kids—his kids—were alright. The blood proved that he wasn't a monster, not like the ones that inhabit the Upside Down. So night after night, following days of school and watching the "party", he'd sit on the bathroom floor, razor blade in hand, and Steve would tear up his arms. He would watch, with a sick satisfaction, as pure red blood dripped down his skin, free falling to the floor. He no longer cried as he took out his emotional pain on his body. He sat, numb to the world, the only thing keeping him grounded, was the harsh sting of pain that flares up every time metal collided with flesh.

It was weeks after El closed the gate, after Dustin had dragged his beaten and concussed role model into tunnels of another world, when the young boy's concern regarding his older friend came to a peak. Dustin had noticed that something was _off_ about Steve. At first, he'd assumed it was because of his injuries, and the overall craziness of that night. But something about Steve had changed. He was sadder, more closed off, and was flat out avoiding any kind of physical contact with the kids. Before, he would often ruffle their hair, fistbump or high-five them, and, on occasion, give a rare hug. Now, he avoided the contact like the plague. The biggest red flag, was a deep cut on Steve's wrist, that when asked about it, he claimed was the result of a cooking accident, and he shut down any other comments about it.

The party was playing Dungeons And Dragons at Hopper's cabin, when during a break from said game, Dustin pulled Eleven aside.

"El? Could you please do be a huge favour?" He asked, rocking on his feet nervously.

She cocked her head to the side, shooting him a curious look.

"Can… can you check on Steve? I… I'm worried about him. I think something's wrong with him." Dustin went on.

"Okay." She replied, after a moment of consideration. Truth be told, she'd noticed the change in him the last time he'd come over to keep her company while Hopper was at work.

The two of them slipped into her bedroom (keeping the door open three inches, in case Hopper got the wrong idea). El grabbed the black strip of fabric to cover her eyes, while Dustin fiddled with the radio. El put on the opaque blindfold, and listened to the static.

"Sad."

Dustin felt a pang of worry grip his heart.

"He's… crying," she continues, speech fragmented, but clear, "his arm… it's bleeding. Bad."

El strips the black fabric off of her face, wiping away the small trickle of blood that ran from her nose.

"I don't know what it means. He wasn't trying to stop it. He just sat there and watched." She explained, confusion and guilt radiating from her tone of voice.

"Do you know if he was at his house?"

"I think so."

"I'm going to go check on him. Tell the others what I'm up to. I don't want to worry them. Thank you for helping me."

"Friends help friends."

He smiled wryly at that, before ducking out of the room, and making his way to Steve's house. He didn't get very far, since he was on foot until he got to the road, and from there he was riding his bike; before Hopper found him.

"El told me what's going on." He explained, gruffly. "If he's bleeding and you're both _this_ concerned, I figured it'd be best if I went with you. Plus I can get you there faster."

"Thanks."

Hopper put the bike into the back of his truck, and they both got in. They sat in a thick silence, which was odd, considering that Dustin was a chatterbox that rarely shut up. Hopper, however, wasn't big on emotions and reassuring people, so he opted to stay in silence. They drove like that, until they were a couple blocks away from Steve's.

"What if he isn't okay?" Dustin whispered, anxiously wringing his hands.

"Then we help him."

They parked, and Dustin knocked on the front door, not really expecting Steve to answer, but more as a common courtesy. When nobody answered, he looked at Hopper, who reached out and tried the door knob. It was unlocked, and they both slipped inside. They spread apart, scanning the first floor for Steve. They headed upstairs, where Dustin found Steve, sitting in his bathtub, arm bloody and eyes vacant. The teenager groggily blinked, and stared owlishly at Dustin.

"Kid?" He slurred, frowning slightly.

"Hey buddy," Dustin replied, using the same slow, soothing voice that he did when Billy knocked him out, "you're gonna be okay. I'm here, Hopper's here. We can get you help. You're okay." He rambles, trying to stay calm and collected, hoping that Hopper had heard him talking and was on his way over to the room.

His prayers were answered when the chief knelt down next to him, and reached over the side of the tub, lightly grasping Steve's injured arm.

"Hopper?" He asked, pronouncing the name without the vowels, so it came out quite garbled. He turned his bleary gaze on the man, sadness and fear crossing his features.

"Hey kid." Hopper acknowledged the teen, concern lacing his tone. "It okay if I check out that arm?"

Steve looked away, cheeks flushed with shame. He nodded his consent, so Dustin got out the first aid kit, and Hopper washed the wound gently with soap and warm water. Once the excess blood was cleared away, Hopper could see what they were dealing with. It was a deep gash, that bled heavily. It wasn't, however, life-threatening, but would require stitches to close it. The skin around the wound seemed to retract, losing its elasticity. When it was clear of blood, Hopper could see layers of flesh. He poured rubbing alcohol onto a tissue, and gently patted the cut with it. Steve winced and hissed at the sensation, and he attempted to pull away, but Hopper firmly kept his arm in place. As Hopper was doing this, Dustin eyed the other shallower, scabbed over cuts that littered the teen's forearms. Some were pink with irritation, some were dried out and in the beginning stages of scarring. Hopper finished up his care for the wound by wrapping Steve's arm in a thick layer of gauze, and he instructed Dustin to hold pressure on it, since Steve was too out of it to comply.

"You wanna tell me what happened tonight, Steve?" Hopper asked.

"Not really." Steve whispered, voice catching on the second word, as fresh tears fell down his face.

"Kid, I'm not gonna get mad, okay? I just need you to tell me, so when we get to the hospital, I'll know what to say to the doctors."

"I did it to myself." He mumbled, and set down a razor blade that he'd been holding in his other hand.

"It's okay kid. I'm not here to judge. We need to get you stitches, so we have to go to the hospital. You okay to walk?" Hopper explained, patiently.

Steve nodded, and with the help of Dustin, stood up. The three slowly inched their way to Hopper's truck, Steve and Dustin sitting in the back, so Dustin could keep pressure on the cut. Blood had already begun to soak through the gauze.

At the emergency room, Steve was seen reasonably quickly, since he was still bleeding, and was with the police chief. These factors helped hurry up the process, which the trio appreciated, since none of them were too keen to be in the hospital.

Hopper drove Steve and Dustin back to his cabin, and the latter jumped out of the backseat, eager to rejoin his friends for the sleepover that was to follow their day of gaming. Hopper kept a light grip on Steve's upper arm, preventing him from joining the other in the house. After Dustin was well on his way to the door, Hopper turned to Steve.

"You know this isn't a healthy coping skill."

"Yeah." Steve let out a strangles whisper.

"You need to see a councillor."

"I don't want my parents to find out. They're real assholes. They'll just make everything worse. I can't," he chokes on emotion, tears glistening in his otherwise dull eyes, "I can't explain this to them."

"Look," Hopper sighed, "we'll figure something out, okay? But for right now, for tonight, you're gonna stay with the kids, and you're gonna be safe. I'll be there if you want to talk, and don't worry about Dustin, he's not going to tell anyone about what happened tonight. However, El already suspects that something is wrong. So this is just a fair warning."

Steve nodded. Heaving a sigh, he crawled out of the truck, and a moment later, Hopper followed. The kids crowded Steve the second he crossed the threshold. Each one concerned about what was wrong with Steve, and wanting to fix it with a hug. Hopper swatted them off, and lead Steve to the armchair, where he collapsed, exhausted from the emotionally charged day he'd had.

Eventually, Steve came clean to the kids, and they were saddened and shocked that he'd do something so destructive to himself. It was nice to get the weight off of his shoulders, but he struggled to get used to the concerned (albeit caring) glances that were sent his way. The kids understood that Steve wasn't going to get better overnight, and that he was going to have his ups and downs, he would relapse, and that was okay.

Steve realized that if he continued down this path, he was going to screw up, and there was a chance that he might accidentally bleed out. He never wanted one of the kids to end up seeing that. It was bad enough that Dustin saw him that night in the bathtub. So he put forward an honest effort to try and get better. He went to a drop in counselling centre, free of charge, and his parents never found out about it. He slipped up a lot at first, but as he found positive coping skills, that _actually worked for him_, the relapses became few and far between. Until eventually, he managed to stop cutting himself, and _stayed_ clean.


End file.
